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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721394">tug o' war</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/low_fi/pseuds/low_fi'>low_fi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Frenemies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Post-Finale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:22:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/low_fi/pseuds/low_fi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this a while back. I like these two and after s5, I wondered what Lee and Ed's relationship might be like post-finale. Enjoy.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Nygma/Leslie Thompkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tug o' war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this a while back. I like these two and after s5, I wondered what Lee and Ed's relationship might be like post-finale. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On some days, it's difficult not to hate her job. </p>
<p>Gotham General is overflowing with criminals. There are patients handcuffed to their beds, sitting in the corridors, swearing at the nurses. This is Gotham, there will always be crime; but what a depressing thing, to see it every day, even after all these years.</p>
<p>Lee Thompkins rules over it all with an iron hand. </p>
<p>There were reports of a broad daylight break-in at an art gallery earlier today, and she has learned to stop guessing which of Gotham's unique personalities is to blame. If she did have to guess, though, she would say it was Ed; doesn't need a concrete reason, she can see his handprints clearly on anything he touches these days like a giant red flag saying "keep away". </p>
<p>"Doctor," she feels a warm pressure on her arm and turns to look at the nurse. </p>
<p>The woman is exhausted, grey around the eyes. Lee opens her mouth to ask what she wants, but then it finally registers that the PA system is blasting her name over the bustle.</p>
<p>"Doctor Thompkins to the west wing," it crackles, "Doctor Thompkins to the west wing, please, third floor."</p>
<p>"With me," she gestures the nurse to follow and sets off down the corridor, waltzing and squeezing between the many people with practiced ease. The nurse follows at a slightly slower pace, getting caught up in the disorder, but she catches up at the stairs.</p>
<p>The upper levels of the hospital are much quieter---nothing but the occasional white coat sailing between the doors, a trolley pushed along with a rattle of wheels. It's a welcome moment of respite after the mess of the ground floor, and she breathes a little easier, not really wanting to consider the task she's being summoned for just yet. </p>
<p>"Doctor Thompkins to the west wing," sounds over their heads again, bringing her back to reality. </p>
<p>"Coming, coming," she mutters, slightly out of breath, and pushes the door open with her elbow. The nurse follows her out into the third floor corridor. </p>
<p>"Doctor Thompkins to 292." </p>
<p>The voice sounds just slightly familiar now, under the distortion. 292.</p>
<p>"I'll take care of this," she turns to the nurse and cups her elbow, "You should go back downstairs."</p>
<p>"It's fine, Doctor," she insists, "I'll help you out, it's no issue." </p>
<p>Lee bites her lip and allows it. She's most likely being paranoid, anyway; what an observation to make, on the third floor of Gotham General, that the numbers add up to 13. </p>
<p>She stops before the door. It's a regular room, so familiar she can picture the layout without ever walking in. No noise comes from inside; it doesn't seem like there are people urgently needing her help, but still she exhales and pushes it open. She immediately finds herself shouting "Don't!" when the first thing she sees is a gun. </p>
<p>A gun admittedly not aimed at her, but at the nurse, who screams and stumbles backward and out the room. Before she can get too far, Lee grabs her and tugs her back inside, promptly closing the door behind them---and they are suddenly bathed in dark, the only light source being the window, illuminated by the orange street lamps outside. </p>
<p>Lee shushes the nurse and looks at the figure sitting on the floor, against the bed. He's hunched over, gun still raised, his other hand clutching a mic; his shoulders move with every pant, making him wheeze and cough even more. Broken ribs, most likely, or severely bruised at the least. His green coat is dirtied with what looks like ink in the dark, but is probably blood. </p>
<p>"Ed," Lee says, her grip on the nurse's arm unwavering. </p>
<p>He looks up from under the mop of his loose, partly gelled hair, revealing a pair of broken green glasses. The gun trembles, and he smiles. He looks like shit. </p>
<p>"Lee."</p>
<p>"Can she go?" Lee asks, dipping her head to the nurse. </p>
<p>Ed motions with the gun. "You know how this works."</p>
<p>She nods and turns to the terrified woman. "Sit down in the corner," she tells her, memorizing her ID, "Don't move. Everything's going to be alright." </p>
<p>The nurse nods frantically and scrambles to hide by the wall, her eyes wide and jittery. Ed gives her a long, careful look. Gun's still up. </p>
<p>Lee takes a step closer. He flinches.</p>
<p>"You're hurt," she says. </p>
<p>"Acute as ever," he replies, adjusting his position. His heeled silver boots slip on the plastic floor with a high-pitched whine. </p>
<p>She winces. He really is a pathetic sight. Another step. </p>
<p>"Doctor," the nurse squeals from her corner. </p>
<p>"Shush," Lee hisses, and realises Ed and her said it in unison.</p>
<p>For a very strange, uncomfortable moment, they stare at each other through the empty space. Ed looks ridiculous sprawled on the floor in his full get-up, and Lee feels annoyed that it has to be her in this room; that it has to be him. If he were any other of Gotham's most notorious, things would be going very differently. </p>
<p>The invisible barrier between them flickers, then dissipates. She walks over, heels clicking, and crouches down by his side; he lowers the gun and tilts his head back against the side of the bed, showing his throat. There's a blossoming bruise on his face--just on the side of his nose, under his eye, which is bloodshot and maybe slightly swollen, but it's difficult to tell in the dark.</p>
<p>She reaches up to his face to check his nose for a break; he jerks away.</p>
<p>"I can't stay here, Lee," he says, voice gravelly, "And I'm not going back to Arkham."</p>
<p>"I know." </p>
<p>She does know. </p>
<p>Ed scowls. "So what does that mean?" </p>
<p>She bites her lips. Then she taps his arm and slides her hand under it, dragging him up with her as she stands. </p>
<p>He's unsure on his feet, hand clutching at his ribs, now. She doesn't miss the colour draining from his face; sweat seeps out onto his forehead, his bare throat, but he makes no sound.</p>
<p>She turns to the nurse. </p>
<p>"Stay here," she instructs, "Don't move." </p>
<p>She feels more than hears Ed laugh against her side, and then the coughs. </p>
<p>"Come on," she mutters, already tired, as she wraps an arm around his middle and helps him to the door, "How did you reach the third floor in this state, anyway?"</p>
<p>"Secret." </p>
<p>She drags him to the lift. </p>
<p>"At least pretend to hold me at gunpoint," she grits, eyes snapping around in search of possible witnesses. </p>
<p>No witty comeback, he just holds up the handgun. </p>
<p>He sags on her like a sack of potatoes. He will be angry about it later; he will scoff and jeer at her, and she'll bite back, because he brings that out in her. Other things, too. She bunches the fabric of his stupid question mark coat in her hand and pulls him closer to her side to get him into the lift, and not because he might fall. </p>
<p>"What did you do to piss him off this time?" she asks as the doors close with a rumble of machinery. The hospital drinks up Wayne charity money like a sponge, and things never get better. </p>
<p>"You don't want to know," he whispers all too close to her ear, making goosebumps rise on her arms. </p>
<p>She bites down on a curse. </p>
<p>"You deserve this." </p>
<p>"We can debate that later." </p>
<p>She nods and gives a short, slightly nervous chuckle. </p>
<p>The hospital is a place where nobody stands by; the rush and hectic tempo mean they're practically invisible sneaking through the parking lot. She throws him in the back seat of her car and closes it quietly, then circles around and gets in. Only then does she realise how harshly her heart is pounding. </p>
<p>"What?" Ed's voice comes from behind her, "Why aren't we leaving?"</p>
<p>"This is crazy," she says, staring quite calmly at the dashboard. </p>
<p>She hears him clear his throat. </p>
<p>The parking lot grows quiet around them, the sound muted. She should start the engine and drive out of here. </p>
<p>"What are you doing?" he asks, and that snaps her out of it; she turns the key and pulls out of the parking space, car crawling like a shadow along the side of the building until she drives out, onto the street.</p>
<p>The damning reality of Ed Nygma in her back seat lowers itself onto her shoulders and settles there like a weight, a knowledge best ignored. </p>
<p>"My place," she says, adjusting the rear view mirror in hopes she'll see him, but he's too low. </p>
<p>"What about Jim?"</p>
<p>"We've separated," it comes out fine, but she suddenly has to swallow. </p>
<p>"Ah," Ed says. He makes a strange sound, like a grunt or an affirmation, and then fabric rustles. "Sorry to hear that."</p>
<p>"No, you're not." </p>
<p>He laughs. "True. But I figured I owe you that, seeing as you're currently helping me out. That, or you're driving me to the GCPD," he sighs, "Which, I have to warn you, would be not good---"</p>
<p>"Save it, Ed," she glances out the window, watches a green neon pass by. Looks back at the road. </p>
<p>She hears him move about. Something falls with a thud and she glances back to see he has dropped the gun on the floor and curled his entire body into a ball, knees to his chest and arms under his head. </p>
<p>"You doing okay?" she asks. </p>
<p>"Peachy, you?" </p>
<p>"Take those glasses off," she looks at the road again, "It's dangerous." </p>
<p>"Funny thing," Ed says, quite seriously, "That's how I..."</p>
<p>He makes a sound of discomfort as they go over a bump, and falls silent. Lee starts looking for the right turn. She spots it and pulls into the alleyway, hoping to get into her apartment building from there.</p>
<p>"Now that I appear to be out of immediate danger," Ed says as the car comes to a halt, "But before you start fussing, I should mention I'm not actually that hurt. I am... very tired, though."</p>
<p>"When did you last sleep?" she asks, turning the engine off.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure." </p>
<p>She shakes her head. "You can crash at my place."</p>
<p>"Thank you."</p>
<p>She gets out of the car. He still needs help standing up, so she supports him all the way to her front door, cupping a hand over the place he's holding when she finds he's still dripping blood.</p>
<p>His weight is warm on her shoulder. It's been months since she's been this close to another human being, and the last one had been Jim. Her skin feels strange. She exhales shakily and unlocks the door. </p>
<p>The apartment is small and messy as ever, dim even with the overhead light slowly heating up to a full glow. </p>
<p>"Bathroom," Lee says, locking the door. </p>
<p>She turns to see him frozen in the middle of her living room. </p>
<p>"I said bathroom," she repeats. </p>
<p>He shakes his head and blinks, then removes his broken glasses to rub at his eyes. </p>
<p>She sighs and pushes him through the right doorway. He rotates, slowly, like an oversized doll, until he's facing her. Without a word, he lets her push the coat off his shoulders and onto the floor. </p>
<p>"I'm assuming that doesn't go in the washing machine," she says to fill the muted, teal silence. </p>
<p>"Dry-clean only." </p>
<p>He's wearing a waistcoat underneath, and a black patterned shirt and tie. She's not sure if she's supposed to take them off for him. He said he wasn't hurt badly, but then who knows how high he is right now; she swallows and pulls gently at his collar. There's blood on it, as well as on the coat, most of it probably from his nose. </p>
<p>"Show me." </p>
<p>"It's not that bad," he sighs, exasperated, and sits down on the rim of the bathtub, "I just need a shower and a night on your couch, and I'll be good as new." </p>
<p>Were he a patient, she would press, but the notion makes her oddly uncomfortable. He doesn't feel hers; she doesn't know if it's good she wants to help him, or how much of it she can show.</p>
<p>"Fine," she nods, "Clean yourself up. I'll see if I can find you some of Jim's old clothes."</p>
<p>Ed outright laughs at that. She smiles to herself and moves to leave. </p>
<p>"Lee," he stops her, laugh dying, "Do you mind if the door stays open?"</p>
<p>She leaves a crack, and looks back at him through it. He nods. She walks a few steps to the side and stops, brushing her hair behind her ear. </p>
<p>"So, what happened with you and dear old Jimmy?" Ed asks over the rustling of fabric. </p>
<p>She hears steps on the tiled floor. </p>
<p>"We decided to take a break," she folds her arms across her chest, "And just never got back together."</p>
<p>"Nothing to do with Barbara?"</p>
<p>"No," she admits with a sigh, "Not really."</p>
<p>She hears water running and swallows, thoughts flickering insistently in the back of her mind. </p>
<p>Then she remembers herself, and goes looking for clothes. As she had suspected, though, the only thing she finds is one old T-shirt, which had been more hers than Jim's after she claimed it for her pyjama top. With a sigh, she selects her own biggest sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, and figures she will dress him in those; better that than blood on her couch, anyway. She wonders why she's doing this at all. </p>
<p>"Ed, I'm coming in," she warns, louder so he'll hear, and takes a step into the bathroom to drop the new clothes in the sink. </p>
<p>She doesn't look at the shower.</p>
<p>She withdraws and sits down on the sofa, her hands on either side of her neck. Hangs her head and exhales. </p>
<p>"Ed," she repeats, soft enough that she knows he won't hear. </p>
<p>It's been years since she last spoke to him, or even referred to him by that name. The feeling that comes with that realisation is neither good nor bad; it's just... strange, like a thought that hasn't fully formed yet, an emotion you can't put a name to. </p>
<p>It's not that the time she spent in the Narrows is the one she thinks back to most often; it's not that she misses it. She is comfortable where she is, and she is doing good. She could not, realistically, do good with Ed Nygma anywhere near her.</p>
<p>He emerges from the bathroom some ten minutes later, dressed in her clothes; comically short around the wrists and ankles, but not too small for him. Benefits of wearing clothes around the house big enough to fit both her and her husband. Then-husband. She clenches her jaw. </p>
<p>He plops down on the couch beside her. </p>
<p>"Huh," Lee points to the glasses on his nose---a normal pair now, eerily similar to the ones he used to wear, "Where'd you get those?"</p>
<p>"Always carry a spare."</p>
<p>She smiles, but her eyes catch on the bruise on his face.</p>
<p>"I should look at your nose." </p>
<p>He obediently removes the glasses, turning big dark eyes on her. She reaches up and runs her fingers up each side of the bridge of his nose, checking for a dislocation. </p>
<p>"Does that hurt?" she asks. </p>
<p>"No." </p>
<p>He even---leans into the touch a little, water dripping from his hair, his eyelashes, and onto her fingers. She exhales. </p>
<p>"And your ribs?"</p>
<p>"Not broken," he assures. </p>
<p>"Prove it."</p>
<p>He looks her in the eye and inhales fully, his chest rising. His breath doesn't hitch. </p>
<p>"Bruised only," he says with the exhale.</p>
<p>Lee has the bizarre idea to praise him. Instead, she gets up and turns away.</p>
<p>"I'll get you some sheets," she offers, "And we'll set you up on the sofa."</p>
<p>She hears him mutter an affirmation as she walks further into the apartment. </p>
<p>She locates the right wardrobe and stands on her toes to go through it, searching for clean sheets and a blanket. She takes a few pillows from her own bedroom and sheathes them in new covers; he surely won't mind cutesy geometrical designs, will he? </p>
<p>Arms piled with her findings, she walks back to the living room, only to find him fast asleep on the sofa. His feet are still on the floor. She sighs and sits down beside him. </p>
<p>"Up," she says softly, pushing a pillow into place under his head. He obeys with a groan and attempts to nuzzle into it with his glasses still on, so she hastily removes them and sets them down on the coffee table. The lenses are thick. </p>
<p>"Ed," she adds, patting his legs. He draws them up onto the sofa; it's too short to fit him, so he curls them to his chest like two great stilts folding in half. </p>
<p>She pulls a blanket over him, then another, and finally finds it in herself to leave him alone. If he has learned anything in the past few years, he'll be gone by morning. </p>
<p>She passes out on her bed, fully clothed. </p>
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